Blog on the tyne is all mine, all mine

For those of you who follow me on Facebook can’t have failed to notice that Rob, one of my 3 readers, has been begging me to do a review of a song. Any song. It sounded like a simple challenge, which the more I thought of it, the harder it got. Songs which I’d never heard for years came flooding back. “oooh, Maybe I should review Sinead Lohan’s ‘What Ever it Takes’… again”. Ohhh, how about “Wash Your Face In My Sink” by The Dream Warriors? Nope, nobody’s ever heard of it, and it’s garbage anyway.

With every facebook post, Rob would add another comment asking me to do it, , and each time, another slew of ideas would come flashing through my mind, blocking everything else out, meaning I’d be running through “Susanna” by The Art Company, and I’d suddenly forget how to breathe. Or something.

I gave up. I wasn’t going to be able to choose a song. It was never going to happen. Therefore, after a couple of comments on Facebook, it was time to let Rob choose a song or two…

Rob: Love it. But PLEASE do a record review!
Me: You know, I can’t decide which one to review. Here’s my music collection, choose a few.

A few moments went by…

Rob: It’s HUGE!

I switched off the webcam, and gave him the correct link to my music collection. Within a few moments, we had choices…

Ok Zig & Zag Them Girls Them Girls
Paul Gascoigne Fog On The Tyne
Bill & Ben Flobbadance

Judging by the title of this entry, I hope you can guess which one I went with.

And so, last night, I went to do a video A walk home from the offy last night filled my head full of ideas. Unfortunately my microphone is knacked, the one in the camera is guff, and I’m sure I can just as well communicate what I was going to say in the video, in a more textual format. Plus, I’m a shitty-arse when it comes to copyright infringement, so a blog entry means I don’t have to rip the song off. Woohoo, and all that. So, with the formalities out of the way, let’s get down to it.

In 1972, Geordie folk-rock group Lindisfarne released a tribute to their home town in the form of a song, the aptly named “Fog on the Tyne”. Despite lyrics about signing on the dole, it pretty much became the band’s anthem, alongside “Meet Me On the Corner”. They would continue to have other hits through the 70s and 80s.

Fast forward to 1990. the world was gripped by Italia 90. The world cup, in other words. Gazza would be forever remembered for getting a yellow card, then bursting into tears during the match against West Germany, which meant he’d miss the final if England made it that far. Suddenly, the country had a hero. A footballer with emotion. His lacrimations were all in vain anyway, as we didn’t reach the final, and finished 4th. Oh well.

Now, I don’t know the reasons WHY this record got comissioned, I’m sure, that if it wasn’t for that yellow card, I wouldn’t be holding this single right now. Gazza was a Geordie, Lindisfarne were Geordies [citation needed], and what way to combine the two than to have them “sing” together on a record. Well.

I’ve actually owned a copy of this song since Xmas 1991. Back then, supermarkets weren’t commonplace. Certainly not as commonplace as they were now. After visiting my cousin Julie, who was living in Stockton at the time, we went to the “Somerville Hypermarket” (the greatest store for the way you live today… I’m so sad I still remember the radio jingle for it). This place was massive, and it was the first time I’d been to somewhere that sold everything you could think of. I remember being in the record section with my aunt Rose, and her picking up a tape for my uncle Jimmy, thinking he would like it. It was “The Hit Pack“. I couldn’t fault the logic at the time. There were a couple of 60s/70s songs on there, either re-released or covered by another band. “Fog On The Tyne” being one of those. There were other songs that wouldn’t have been up Uncle Jimmy’s alleyway… Deee-Lite? the Charlatans? My word, even the slightest mention of “Cubik” by 808 State would have sent his hearing aid into a frenzied panic of whistling.

Xmas time came, and I received a copy of this album. Hurrah! Maybe it was that actual same tape? I don’t know. I’m not bothered. I was happy to have a good copy of “Good Morning Britain” by Aztec Camera. The Gazza song is also on the tape version, but it rarely got played, and the song, for me, disappeared into obscurity.

Whilst in a charity shop in Stockton earlier this year, I picked up a copy. TEN WHOLE PENNIES. I got it home, only to find it had a crack right through the centre. TEN WHOLE PENNIES IN THE BIN. Luckily, during another charity shop dive, I picked up a copy for 40p, and that’s how I ended up with a vinyl copy of this staggering turd.

The cover features a shell-suited Gazza, with a pair of headphones apparently screaming into a microphone. the back of the cover features Gazza again, in a different shell suit, surrounded by the band, with the Tyne bridge as a backdrop. The record label is “Best Records”. I’ve not seen anything else by that record label, so whether it was set up just for that particular record, I do not know.

It says a lot when the people who mixed it wish to remain anonymous. The cover states “Mixed by BB and M”. Clearly, two people didn’t want this record on their CV.

So, the tune itself. Take a classic local song, slap a synthesized drumbeat / bassline over it and get a famous footballer to rap (or rather, speak) over the top of it, and you’ve pretty much got the song. Naturally, some words were replaced, the section about signing on the dole was replaced with Gazza “setting his sights on go-go-go-goals. The entire verse about urination was omitted from the new version.

the B-side is an uninteresting instrumental. the only thing missing is Gazza’s “Vocals”.

So, in conclusion, this song is like having a rock-hard shit. 3 minutes, 42 seconds of sheer, unbearable pain, followed by insurmountable relief when it’s all over.

Judge for yourselves…

Taking the high road…. day 2 (and horribly incomplete)

Look, I’m *never* going to finish the Scotland trip write-up. I hate having one of those “real life” things. Here’s the partial write-up of day 2, complete with placeholders where I wanted photos to go, because I really am *that* lazy!

Oops, I hadn’t forgotten about this, I’ve just had a few things to do in my “extra curricular” time, and I’ve been laden with manflu, so I’ve hardly had the time or the patience to sit down at the computr. Anyway, onto Day 2. I awoke with very little of a hangover, and it would be the first time I’d get a decent look out of the hotel window just to see what the view was like. Let’s just say when I opened the window, I almost spat my complimentary cup of tea and biscuits all over the window. It was stunning.

pic out of window P1040333

I’ve stayed in many hotels over the years, and this was the first one I’ve had with a decent view. Normally, I’m looking over a service road, or the back of another building or a car park, but this was something different. 10 points for the view. In fact, the whole of the exterior was quite pretty, and looked more like something out of Norway than Scotland

pic of hotel

Breakfast was consumed, which, of course, consisted of one of those rare commodities… hotel toast. It’s just so different to normal toast and I don’t know why. It’s the same product, and I assume the same cooking method. It’s just different. I’ve tried to explain this to people and they don’t understand what I’m going on about. It’s also when I say that milk tastes different if you drink it outside. they don’t understand that either. It just does. It really, really does.

I digress, and before I become accused of having a point to any of these blog postings, let’s just say we boarded the coach, and headed off deep in to the highlands. Well, you’ll be glad to know, if you’ve seen one picture of a foggy mountainside, you’ve seen them all. So, I took 90 photos. Our first destination was Fort William. We didn’t stay there that long, just enough time to stop in the shadow of Ben Nevis (which, due to the low cloud, you couldn’t actually see the summit) and to get an overpriced drink from the “Wool Shop”. Cor, exciting times. Me and Chris decided to have a quick walk around the streets to see if we could find a cheap paper shop, but unfortunately, this wasn’t the case.

So, that was Fort William, for now. We’d return on the way back, but onto our main destination… Fort Augustus. The reason for this is to visit the most famous loch of them all. Loch Ness. Would we see the infamous Nessie? Sadly, not, unfortunately, there was another just as ugly creature stood at the edge of the water. That’ll be me, taking the photos.

loch ness photo

Ho hum. Well, we’d seen the vast expanse of water. It appeared to be the same as the other expanses of water which we had seen in the day, and so, it was off to explore the village. And by that, I mean explore the nearest pub. You’ll be shocked, saddened, and probably even a little appalled to learn that I had a coke. I really wasn’t feeling the love for the beer, and considering there was the coach ride back to contend with, I didn’t want anything alcoholic pressing on my bladder.

So, we left the pub and explored the rest of the village. There was a museum (which was closed) and a Londis. I was rather happy at the fact the Londis sold “Atomic Fireballs”, a confectionery I hadn’t seen since I was about 13. I’m pretty sure they’d reduced the heat content, but the good old cinnamon flavour was still there. It was the only place I’d seen where things like water were reasonably priced too. I could have drank the water in the hotel (I don’t believe in all of that “change of water makes you shit through the eye of a needle” malarky), but the beakers provided in the hotel were the size of thimbles, and I didn’t fancy having to get up if I was thirsty during the night. Oh, and they had schotch-flavoured condoms on the front counter. I’m lining up the QI klaxon for the raft of predictable jokes that is going to make the comments.

The journey back included the afore-mentioned stop in Fort William. Maybe it was because it was a week day. Maybe it was because it was going on 4PM, but there was very little there. The “High Street” had very little going for it. Naturally there were the charity shops, but as Chris was with me, I didn’t want to just visit those. I’d save that for Edinburgh later on in the week! So, a few 30-second charity shops a Tesco and a museum later, we headed back to the coach, and time to photograph the things I’d neard about on the coach, but didn’t get the chance to photograph, including this…

I can’t remember if it had an official name, but the legend has it, that a farmer buried his dead sheepdog, named Domino, at the base of this rock, and shortly after, a tree started growing out of the rock. Awww.

So, er, that’ll be my Scotland trip. Days 3, 4 and 5 involved Edinburgh, a shirt, a squirrel, the Forth Road bridge, an epic game of cards in the dark, and at the very end, an aching arse. Make of that what you will, because I’ll probably never, ever write any of it up. Oh well!